


Sword's Edge

by Shadowblayze



Series: Fragments 'Verse [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 20:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4679696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowblayze/pseuds/Shadowblayze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Second Year Harry accidentally summons the Sword of Gryffindor during his Uncle's 'Welcome Home' diatribe.</p><p>This sets forth a chain of events that results in a new option for him, as he tries to find a way to live instead of just survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sword's Edge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Starchains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starchains/gifts).
  * Inspired by [How Harry Became Squalo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3673395) by [Starchains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starchains/pseuds/Starchains). 



Harry Potter stared glumly out of the window of his compartment on the Hogwarts Express and tried to keep a tight rein on his emotions as the train steadily made its way towards London, and Harry’s summer _prison_.

Second Year at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry hadn’t been any better than First Year, actually in many ways it had been worse- and First Year had featured a possessed teacher hosting the essence of his parent’s murderer!

When Hagrid had first appeared on that dismal Hut-on-a-Rock with his stories of magic and his parents being heroes, Harry had been _enthralled_.  Harry had been sure that he’d be able to step into this, wonderful new world and be himself for once- for surely fellow freaks would be far more accepting than the ‘nice, normal folk’ that he’d been surrounded by up until then, right?

It had taken Harry about thirty minutes into his first trip into Diagon Alley to shatter that dream, and now he knew with personal, bitter certainty that the magical world only saw what they wanted, when they wanted- they were _just people_.  People with incredible power at their disposal, but just people in the end.

Just like back in Little Whinging with the Dursleys and the neighbors and the Primary teachers who’d never asked questions.

Harry rotated his left arm stiffly, trying to loosen the muscles before they cramped up on him _again_.

The Boy-Who-Lived snorted derisively, _I got dragged down to that stupid Chamber and fought a Basilisk, saving Ginny and facing another incarnation of Voldemort in the process, and the Headmaster was more concerned with getting the story out of me than making sure that I wasn’t about to die.  Sure Fawkes cried on me- but I’m a twelve-year-old who took the fang of one of the world’s deadliest snakes through my arm- but you’d think that I would have gotten medical attention before being interrogated.  And I was a suspect, right up until he was absolutely certain that I’d told him everything and that stupidly itchy feeling in my head went away._

Harry was far from stupid, but he’d learned early that showing all your cards wasn’t a smart move, it was why he’d begged the Hat to put him in Gryffindor, even though he probably could have thrived in Slytherin- you know, if he wasn’t who he was, anyways.

The boy sighed in frustration, grateful that his compartment was empty with Hermione having run off with the other formerly-petrified students to try and catch up on all the work they missed, and Ron having gone home with his family just after the Chamber Incident.

Harry loved Ron and Hermione, he really did, but after the way they’d both treated him this year after they found out that he was a Parselmouth, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to truly trust them again.  He knew that they were just kids- like he was- but he’d observed ‘pack mentality’ and ‘peer pressure’ at work took many times to be blindly naïve.  They could be friends, and he’d never forget what they’d gone through up until this point, but they’d never be his ‘best friends’ again.

No, Harry was on his own if he was going to find a way out of these chains that were binding him, both in the magical world and the nonmagical one.

The train came to a stop and Harry heaved another sigh as he mechanically began to pull his trunk down, grateful that he’d let Hedwig out already.

Oh well, at least he’d have plenty of time to think about things this summer.

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

Harry stared dispassionately at his Uncle Vernon as the man rounded on him not five steps after the door had been closed behind

The walrus-like man’s face reddened and he opened his mouth, verbal abuse spilling forth as he began to rant about ‘freakishness’ and ‘layabouts’ and ‘wastrels’ in his usual dulcet tones, Aunt Petunia sniffing disdainfully as her kitten heels clacked smartly against the wooden floor on Number Four’s entryway as she made her way back towards the kitchen.

Harry just stood there for a moment, the roar of his emotions nearly overwhelming him and filling his ears with white noise, as he idly wished for the Sword of Gryffindor which was about the only _useful tool_ he’d encountered in his sojourn into the magical world.

There was a brief flare of warmth, almost like _fire_ -

Then the Sword of Gryffindor was in his hand, ruby hilt glittering and seemingly re-sized for his ease of use.

Uncle Vernon opened his mouth wider-

“You know.” Harry found himself conversationally. “I used this sword to kill a snake longer than our street at school this year.  The venom is so toxic it can eat through stone.”

The man before him paled rapidly.

Harry smiled brightly and all but purred the next part, “But you see, the greatest part about this Sword is that it comes from my Ancestor’s Line, and anyone who is unworthy that touches it- like you, for example- will die in _incomprehensible agony_.”  The boy walked forward, absently bringing the sword up in front of him, “It also cannot be taken away from me, as I can call it to me through _my very blood_.  So you see Uncle Vernon, I think things are going to go a bit _differently_ this summer.”

The boy was right beside the man now, “I am not you.  I am not needlessly cruel.  Stay out of my way, and I will stay out of yours.”  Harry turned and _willed_ his sword to use the venom of the Basilisk as he laid the edge of the blade against the doorframe to the Living Room, the blade sliding through the thick wood effortlessly, despite the boy not really putting any pressure behind it.  “A warning.” He said cheerfully, as he held the sword in one hand and grabbed his trunk with the other and made his way up the stairs.

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

Harry sat with his back to his bedroom wall.

 _What the fuck was that?_   He thought dazedly as he stared at the Sword of Gryffindor, which was lying innocently in his lap.  Harry knew that what he’d said about the unworthy touching the sword dying in agony part was true, but he also knew that it was partially because he’d willed that to happen, and he’d subconsciously defined the parameters of ‘unworthy’.

The sword didn’t feel sentient, like it was trying to talk to him or take over his thoughts, but there was something about it that wasn’t entirely inert either.

Well, after the Diary crap this past year, he’d be extra careful, but it would definitely help keep the Dursleys from being their normal charming selves, and as far as he knew they couldn’t contact the magical world, which was even better, as then no one could come and take his new protective blanket away from him.

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

Over the past week Harry had learned a lot of cool things.

His sword could become a bracelet if he concentrated hard enough, _which was awesome_.  It could also become several different lengths- from a dagger up to a two-handed broadsword, and it was always perfectly balanced.

Even more awesome was the golden-ish fire that seemed to appear whenever his sword switched forms, and when Harry did it in front of the Dursleys they seemed to become disoriented, as if someone had hit them with a _Confundus Charm_ or something.

They didn’t even mention the fire, it was like they couldn’t see it or something.

Better yet, none of his experimentation had netted him another warning from the Ministry of Magic, which meant that he was able to keep his things, eat, _and_ not be locked in his room like a prisoner.

Admittedly, he did have to sleep with one eye open, and he’d had to melt one of the Dursley kitchen chairs last night to reinforce the whole, ‘my sword had deadly venon inside it’ lesson- there was now a hole in the floor, as a matter of fact- but otherwise he’d had a pretty peaceful summer thus far.

None of his friends had written more than a short note, Ron was getting ready for a trip to Egypt, apparently, and Hermione was going to France and catching up on schoolwork, but that was alright, he’d be fine.

He’d already known that he was on his own anyways.

Maybe the library would have some books on swordsmanship?

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

Superbi Squalo cursed Vongola Nono to the depths of the Vindicare and back _at least twice_ in every language he was even vaguely fluent in as he made his way through this shitty middle class suburbia hell.

Since Xanxus had been put on ice nearly eighteen months ago, the Vongola Boss had been _extra certain_ to keep the Varia busy.  The shitty old fart couldn’t afford to get rid of them, but he sure as hell couldn’t afford to let them regroup and mount another assault, either.

Because the only thing the upper echelon of the Varia, (Ottabio didn’t fucking count in Squalo’s mind- when Xanxus came back, the rat bastard would get his), had to lose _was_ Xanxus, Vongola Nono made sure to drive home the fact that even the _rumor_ of misdeeds by the remaining would get the frozen Varia Boss permanently eliminated, and a new Boss for the Varia would be actively sought.

That was unacceptable to the loyal Varia Elite, which is why they grit their teeth and took on bullshit missions like _this one_.

 _It’s for Boss._   Squalo told himself as he upped the amount of Tranquility he was pumping into the air as he wove through the backyards of the houses in pursuit of his target.  _All of this shit is for Boss._

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

Squalo’s target had been an _idiot_ , his security had been _insulting_ , and Nono should be strung up by his _stupid fucking mustache for wasting Varia Quality on this stupid fucking mission_ , Squalo decided as he ghosted over fences and through yards, making his way back towards a main intersection to blend back in to the nightlife crowds.

Varia Quality meant not taking stupid risks, even on easy missions.

Squalo almost tripped over his own two feet when he saw a brat practicing with a _real sword_ in a backyard.

The Sword Emperor part of Squalo itched to _commit murder_ for seeing a block executed from a stance that shitty, not to mention everything else that was wrong with the boy.

The Varia Assassin in him immediately began filing away all the other bits: the boy’s stature, the fact that he was out this late practicing with a live weapon without proper supervision or training, the lack of rebellious indicators- this kid was training for _survival,_ the clothes he was wearing, the look in his eyes, and not to mention the sword itself- obviously an heirloom, and the boy’s, not whomever lived in the house, because just at a glance Squalo could tell that the sword was made well enough to buy the whole damn town and then some, even as a trophy piece.

Then the brat heard a noise from inside the house, flinched like he expected to be hit, and _fuck Squalo’s life_ the sword became a bracelet.

Definitely a solid Sun Flame user, but there were Mist Flames or Cloud Flames- or maybe both- there as well, and almost as strong.  Obviously the kid was civilian born, as he obviously didn’t realize the full extent of his abilities as the brat slunk back into the house and out of sight.

Squalo made a note of the address and hurried on- he needed to find a hotel and do some digging.

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

The Commander of the Varia sighed as Mammon corroborated his findings.

Number Four Privet Drive was the home to a magical by the name of Harry Potter, who was a giant ball of _clusterfucked information_.

Neighbors, teachers, the magicals that Mammon went all Esper on- all of them had conflicting stories and opsions of the boy.

However, Mammon had been close by, and had spent a day observing the boy and had agreed with Squalo’s assessment.

Squalo was a firm believer in trusting his gut, and his gut told him that this kid would be a damn good investment, and Mammon agreed that the kid’s potential was practically limitless if someone would just take the time to help him.

The Esper had also advised blunt honesty, “This child has lived his entire life- or what he can remember of it- on one crumbling lie or another, much like Boss.  Be blunt, be honest, and I think the Varia will be better for it, Commander.”

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

Harry stared at the man with the shoulder-length white hair and slowly went over what he’d been told in the privacy of his mind.

The man was Squalo Superbi, Sword Emperor and the Commander of the Varia, the Vongola Famiglia’s Independent Assassination Squad.  The fire Harry had been playing with were actually the Dying Will Flames and were a trademark of the Mafia like magic was to the magical world.  Squalo was willing to take Harry to Italy and teach him for the summer, (and possibly more, they’d have to play it by ear), if Harry agreed to work with the Varia’s WEATHER  Squad after he graduated for at least two years, or if Harry could conclusively contribute to freeing their Boss.

Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about being an assassin, but he had killed Quirrell at the end of First Year, and then the Basilisk this year and _Ginny_ nearly died, and everyone seemed to just _expect him_ to be able to handle that sort of thing, so maybe it would be better to actually be trained how to handle crap like that?

The man said that the Varia had a seven-language requirement, but as Harry would be Squalo’s ‘side project’ they would let that slide, but the boy would have to work his ass off because Squalo demanded nothing less than perfection.

Harry would be returned to Privet Drive the twenty-fourth of August, seeing as it was just now the third week of June, that gave Squalo nearly ten weeks to train Harry.  The British Trace did not extend to _Italia_ as the Ministries did not share information so easily, so the members of the WEATHER Squad- the Varia’s super-secret magical faction that was only known to the Boss, or Commander in Squalo’s case- would be tutoring the teen in Varia-flavored magical combat, while other members would be keeping the rest of the Harry’s education.

“Not going to lie kid, it’s going to be the shittiest ten weeks of your life, but if you survive, you just might live to see adulthood.” Squalo had said before lapsing into silence.

Really, there were only a couple of questions that were important to Harry, “Where is somewhere safe I can keep Hedwig, and how can I do this without the Headmaster finding out?  He was pretty insistent that I stay here.”

Squalo grinned, it was sword-shard and predatory, “You just leave that to me, lion cub.  Lussuria will adore that fucking owl.”

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

“Shittiest ten weeks of my life _my ass_.” Harry laughed to himself as he walked back through door to Number Four nearly ten weeks later.

It hadn’t been the ten shittiest weeks of his life- it had been _worse_. 

 _Especially at the beginning_.

Lussuria, the Varia Sun and resident mother-hen, had nearly come _unglued_ when he’d run the original diagnostics on Harry.  Between the abuse his body had undergone in his early years, followed by First Year’s Hogwarts meals before a summer of starving, then the Basilisk incident, the Varia Sun had been _fit to be tied_.

Or commit mass homicide- with Lussuria it was difficult to tell sometimes.

Harry had actually been undergoing treatment until a week ago to entirely stabilize his bloodwork and his soul.  A Phoenix didn’t just affect the physical plane, so Phoenix Tears didn’t just heal a person’s body they went even deeper, which is why they were so valuable and why a Phoenix Song could uplift a spirit even though it wasn’t a tangible medicine.

Meaning that Fawkes’ Tears had been Overhealing Harry to the point that it had been poisoning him, eventually it would have evened out, but he likely would have gone through some serious mood swings and walked that wretched line between well and unwell for so long that his body would have been permanently, significantly damaged, meaning that he never would have been able to properly utilize his Flames.

Harry’s Primary Flame type was actually Cloud, but his Sun flame Secondary had been eating away at the Tears, trying to stabilize him, and that had caused his Sun flame capacity to rapidly expand, so now he was just as much a Sun as he was a Cloud, with just a hint of Mist in between.

Lussuria had also wrangled Squalo into pouring Rain Flames into Harry’s Scar until the thing had bloated to the point of bursting, and then had Prince Belphegor attack the foreign entity behind the Sowlio Rune with Storm Flames until a blackish tar came out.  Harry had passed out long before then, but Lussuria said that it was much easier to stabilize him after that.

Lussuria was also the one who taught Harry basic hand-to-hand combat, monitored his meals, went through his clothes and threw out most of them before replacing them, and generally mothered him.  Harry enjoyed Lussuria’s brand of mothering though, and he wondered what his own mother would think about him preferring an effeminate male assassin as a mother-ish figure over a woman like Mrs. Weasley.

Commander Superbi- that was what Harry had called the man when he’d been training him- had given the boy a feral grin when he’d heard that bit of information about Harry bein a Cloud Flame user, and it hadn’t made Harry feel safe- _at all_.  Harry’s meager instincts had been correct, of course, Commander Superbi had been nothing less than _relentlessly ruthless_ in his training methods, and while Harry wouldn’t be able to hold a handle to the Sword Emperor any time soon, there were a number of grunts that he could spar with nowadays without getting his ass handed to him too badly.

Prince Belphegor was actually just a bit younger than Harry and Harry had enjoyed the boy’s company when he’d just been ‘Prince Bel’ and not ‘Prince the Ripper’.  Prince Bel, for all his haughtiness, was actually a brilliant teacher, and Harry had learned that there was a huge difference between _being taught_ and _being talked at_.  ‘Prince the Ripper’ was bloodthirsty, brilliant, and inescapable, forcing Harry into Lussuria’s infirmary more due to traps and set ups, but the lessons that the Prince was illustrating always stuck with Harry after an experience like that, so Harry supposed he could see the method, but he still liked his _friend_ better than his _teacher_!

Mammon was the final member of the Varia Elite that Harry had interacted with, and the Esper had been _chilling_ in his ability to lay all of Harry’s deepest thoughts out in front of him like it was _nothing_.  It took all of one session for Harry to apply himself to learning Mammon’s style of Mind Defense with all of his being; he _never_ wanted to experience such a thing ever again!  As time went on, Harry found Mammon to be funny, if expensive, company and the teen had truly come to appreciate the Esper’s point of view on things.

He’d never learned the names of his WEATHER Squad trainers, but they’d been just as brutally ruthless as the Varia Elite.  Surprisingly they hadn’t taught him any super-cool new spells, instead they had taught him how to use every single spell he’d learned in his First and Second Year to either incapacitate or kill a target.

Harry still wasn’t entirely on board with this whole ‘assassination’ thing, but he’d had to kill a prisoner, and Lussuria had been there with him the whole night afterwards, and the next day no one had batted an eye at his red eyes or stuffy nose, Squalo had just handed him a tissue and told him to run his damn laps.

The world hadn’t ended, and they hadn’t kicked him out for having feelings about it either.

It had been….nice.  To be able to be human, even in a castle full of badass assassins.

It was why Harry had left his Invisibility Cloak- which he’d kept a secret, as Mammon hadn’t told on him- with Squalo before he’d gotten on the plane to come back to England.

Melting the ice that Xanxus was encased in wasn’t the issue for the Varia, it was getting inside where he was being held and going unnoticed long enough _to_ melt it that was an issue.  Harry’s Cloak would solve that issue for the Varia, and Mammon had sworn on his fortune that it would be returned to Harry safely once they’d gotten Boss free.

Harry trusted his assassins more than he trusted anyone else in the world, at the moment, and he’d known them all of ten weeks, how sad was that?

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

Harry had been back at Number Four all of a day when he’d gotten his Cloak returned to him in a whirl of Mist Flames with a single-line note that simply said ‘Success’, not long after he’d received an invitation from the Weasleys and Hermione to meet them at the Leaky Caldron so they could all shop for their school supplies together.

(Hedwig was still wearing the cute harness that Lussuria had made for her, and he was pretty sure one of the WEATHER Squad members had added enchantments to it.  One of the underlings had tried to mess with the Snowy Owl _once_ and had had the permanent fear of the Varia Sun Officer put into them.  Everyone else had wisely stayed clear of her.)

The young Potter laughed a little and wondered at the disconnected feeling he was experiencing.

His summer had been spent learning to fight with his sword or his body and how to fire a variety of guns.  He’d learned Italian thoroughly, and had a pretty strong grasp on the basics of French and Spanish.  He’d gotten caught up on his nonmagical education and beyond, (because Prince Bel didn’t do anything by _half_ ), and learned more about etiquette than he’d ever known existed.  He was almost eight inches taller, he didn’t _need_ to wear glasses but wore some that Mammon had worker his Esper-Mist mojo on, and had deliberately killed a man because Commander Superbi- _a man not even old enough to legally use magic outside of Hogwarts_ \- told him to.

What was he supposed to talk about to these people?

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

Harry wasn’t sure if he should be happy with how easy it was to slide back into his magical world persona or if he should feel frustrated that no one bothered to notice that he’d changed.

On one hand, being able to flawlessly blend in to your environment was a sign of Quality, on the other, Harry was still _far_ from Quality and these were supposed to be his ‘best friends’.

It was bizarre.

Then there was everyone’s obsessive need to keep track of him every second of the day, Harry honestly thought that he was going to go _mad_ and have to go back to Privet Drive just to get some privacy.

He really needed to talk to the Goblins, too.

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

It took some doing, but Gringotts s open twenty-four hours a day.

(Harry had made sure to take his sword off before he went, no need to tempt a war.)

A half hour later, and a grinning Harry was exiting the Bank with a hefty amount of pounds.

He couldn’t do much with the Potter accounts until his majority- Mammon had told him and the goblins had confirmed- that old estates like the Potters set up Trust Vaults for the Heirs, and in the event something happened to the Lord, the Trust Vault had to last the Heir until the Family Vault opened for them when their core matured and they could use the Family Magics, which is how the Vaults were sealed.

Granted, a Guardian _could_ draft funds from the Family Vault for upkeep and whatnot, but Harry didn’t have a recognized Financial Magical Guardian, which was highly irregular as that meant that he had the default of the Headmaster as his Magical Guardian.  This was odd because if his parents had named Albus Dumbledore as his Guardian, then he’d be the Financial Guardian as well, but the magic hadn’t accepted him which might explain why he’d had the trust Vault key but why the Vault hadn’t been opened prior to Harry visiting in July of 1991, the key would have been invalid had Harry not been physically present since the Vault was ‘new’ and the key wasn’t with the proper authority.

So, somewhere between his parents death and his placement at the Dursleys something had happened that didn’t comply with the wishes written in his parent’s Will, as only that level of conflict would divide the Guardian Magics like Harry’s had been.  Gringotts executed Wills, but if a Will was sealed by the Ministry then Gringotts’ hands were tied, so both Harry and the Goblins had to wait to see what the Will said, as the Will had been sealed by the Chief Warlock himself, according to the records.

As annoying as all of that had been to find out, Mammon wasn’t a monetary genius without due cause, so Harry had the Goblins put a discreet fine on ‘The Boy Who Lived’ crap, the phrase included, and had them back-date it to one of the days when Lockhart had been particularly annoying about ‘helping you manage your fame, Harry!’ and had kept Harry in detention, helping the fop answer his fanmail.

While Gringotts was an honest bank, they had _absolutely zero issue_ with screwing over wizards if no rules were truly _broken_ , so seeing as how a Goblin runner went out and got Lockhart’s signature, everything was technically above board, even if the rules had been creatively interpreted.

The fines were small enough to begin with, that most people wouldn’t notice, and by the time they did notice it would be too late to change the rule and Lockhart wasn’t in any position to Request Recinsion, so they would be blaming the blonde idiot while Harry, (and the Goblins, who were getting thirty-five percent), would be reaping the rewards.

Harry knew he should probably feel bad, but- as Mammon had pointed out and Squalo had reinforced- people had been profiting from his family’s tragedy for _a decade_ , it wasn’t like he was robbing the poor, and Lockhart wasn’t an innocent, he’d stolen real people’s accomplishments and their memories of them, and then turned around and passed them off as his own work and profited from it.

So, there was a little guilt, but not an overwhelming amount.

It was still early morning, so Harry slipped back up to his room in the Leaky and left a note, and then slipped out into nonmagical London.

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

Harry couldn’t do much with his Mist Flames, but he could make himself look older and make it seem like he had proper identification which meant he’d been able to set up his nonmagical bank accounts, (most of the work had been done as a project for Bel, with Mammon looking over his shoulder and adding commentary and then charging him for the advice), but now Harry Potter, under various aliases, had seven bank accounts at five different banks and they were all going to be raking in interest while he was off at school.

The cool part was that regular, nonmagical London didn’t have magic or Flame technology so that had made things _a lot_ easier.

Granted, some accounts would be getting better interest than others, but by having them established now, it would make moving his money over later a lot easier.  Having several accounts under different names also kept his net worth low enough that he didn’t get put on anyone’s watch list.

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

Harry listened to Ron and Hermione squabble with half an ear and thought about what Mr. Weasley had told him about Sirius Black.

_Something didn’t add up._

Kind of in the same way that everyone thought Harry was a Prince raised in a castle sort-of-way.

This year was going to _suck_ , he could just feel it.

―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―~~―

Harry’s intuition had been right, Third Year _sucked_.

The stupid Ministry had stationed Dementors around the school.  Even a _Magical Creature novice_ like Harry could tell was a _stupendously bad_ idea.

(Harry had followed his instincts and taken a walk while the train had been making its way towards Hogwarts and had been in a different compartment when the Dementors had come aboard.  He met a pair in the Baggage Compartment and had summoned his sword by instinct.  Only Harry walked _out_ that compartment.  Everyone had been so worried about the train and had been so affected by the negative atmosphere the Dementors brought with them that his ashen face had slipped under the radar of the Professors.)

Not to mention, he’d had to argue his way into Arithmancy and Runes.  Professor McGonagall had huffed and hummed, but she’d let him take Runes, Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures in the end.  The stern warning she’d given him about slacking off had irritated him, but he soothed himself with the knowledge that she had _no idea_ what he’d been doing over the summer.

Hermione had been pulled aside by Professor McGonagall when they’d arrived and had been clutching at her necklace ever since.  (She hadn’t been wearing a necklace this summer, had she?)  Ron had been irritated at his dropping of Divination, and then the other had drifted away as Harry applied himself to his new classes with a vengeance.

If there was one thing that the Varia had beaten into him that summer, it was to _question everything_.  The smallest details could be an indication of something coming- or warn of an ambush or something.  The Varia had repeatedly _beaten it into him_ and _set him up to fail when he didn’t pay attention_ in order to get that lesson to _stick_.  Consequently, he was actually _paying attention_ to seemingly insignificant details like Hermione having a new necklace shortly after her secret meeting with their Head of House.

(Another lesson he’d had repeatedly bashed into his thick skull was to always remember that _people lie_ and _there are three sides to every story-_ yours, theirs, and the truth.)

Harry’s new dedication to the little things had helped him pick out Malfoy’s intention to ruin Hagrid’s first lesson.  When the blonde prat had marched towards the proud Hippogryff, Harry had discreetly hit the boy with a charm that was usually used for grease stains, but when used on a person it would induce the urgent need to find the nearest loo.  The Potter had been gratified to see Malfoy’s face turn red as he quickly informed Hagrid that he needed to use the loo before he all but ran back towards the castle.

The young teen had also noted the new DADA Professor’s strange side-glances.  They weren’t hostile glances, more like sad or longing ones, but as the last two DADA Professors had either tried to cause him grievous injury, he kept his distance.

Another bone of contention between him and Hermione was that Harry wanted to _learn_ , while Hermione wanted to be the _best in class_.  While sometimes learning and good scores on essays or tests coincided, Harry was unashamedly lazy if he left that the essay was an insult to his intelligence. 

Meaning, if the Professor set forth an essay on a stupidly easy topic, Harry would do _exactly_ the work required and move on, which highly offended Hermione’s academic sensibilities.

Harry, (having had plenty of experience at learning to work with Varia life- _particularly Squalo in a bad mood_ \- existing in the background), would simply tune her out and continue working, which only served to irritate her _further_.

That wasn’t even mentioning keeping up with the work Prince Bel had assigned him and trying to stay in some semblance of shape.  (The castle was pretty fun to exercise in, actually.  The shifting floor plan added a level of challenge that Harry was sure Squalo would love.)

When the first Hogsmeade weekend came, Harry was pretty unenthusiastic about it.  He was allowed to go, (forgery was a _Quality skill_ ), and Lussuria had _beat into him_ the need for rest, so he’d made sure he had his sword and Cloak and signed out with the rest of the students.

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Harry sighed as he thought about the Intel he had gathered about Sirius Black.

The boy grinned up at the inside of his four-poster bed.

Squalo was going to _beat his ass_.  However, _nothing ventured, nothing gained_.

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One of the most important things that he had learned from the Varia WEATHER squad was that _intent_ was about ninety percent of the spell.  (How else would you suspend your disbelief and break the laws of physics and gravity when casting _Wingardiun Leviosa_?)

He’d done some checking in the Daily Prophet archives the next day, and it looked like his hunch was at least plausible.

Sirius Black seemed to have been tried in the _Court of Public Opinion_ or the _Court of Everyone Knows He Did It_.  While the front page of the Prophet blared his arrest and sentencing, there wasn’t actually any mention of a _trial_ in the judiciary section of the paper.

With that in mind, he had addressed a letter to, ‘The Imprisoned but Never Convicted Sirius Black’, and whispered his plan to Hedwig. 

(He had also fussed about her being safe for a good half hour before she’d gotten irritated and pecked him firmly.  Apparently, his owl was _Quality_.) 

Along with the letter were shrunken writing supplies and a brief outline of what Harry wanted to know- including a vow that the boy wanted sworn and how he wanted the return letter addressed.

(The Varia WEATHER Squad was known for their rather….unique approach to things and he’d been tutored by Prince Belphegor and Mammon the Miser, so the Vow was worded tightly.  Harry was actually pretty pleased with himself and wondered why no one else seemed to think of things like this.)

The first Hogsmeade weekend had been the second week of October, so Harry had sent his letter off on the 10th, which was a Sunday.

Harry felt a warm rush of magic pass over him as Black swore the vow that Harry had carefully worded almost a week later.

Well, _damn_.

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Meeting up with Sirius Black had been easier than Harry had thought, and the man had willingly submitted to Harry’s demands.

By the end of the meeting Harry was even more disgusted with the magical world than he had been previously.

It had taken some flexible application of his new grasp of diplomacy, but he’d managed to convince Sirius that capturing the rat, (who had been in the same dorm as him and Harry had shrugged that tingling in his sense off as paranoia.  He was going to have to tell Squalo about that and submit to his punishment.), and running for Switzerland for an _internationally recognized_ _trial_ would be a much better revenge.

(Much like their muggle counterparts, Magical Switzerland was an authority unto their own. 

As cut off from outsiders as the Swiss Magicals were, they were more than happy to pull out the Old Laws and find justice on behalf of wronged magicals.  Angering the Swiss Delegation was _not_ something that any of the magical governments wanted to be accused of as the Swiss were literally the oldest, most sacred magical authority in Europe.

The only ones that came close to the prestige of the Swiss lines were the ‘Most Ancient and Most Noble Houses’.

Mammon had told Harry all this, as Potter was a ‘Most Ancient and Most Noble’ House.  The lines were defined by the magic their members could wield upon their majority, despite the names of the families changing over the centuries.  Anything more specific was restricted to blood-members and not even Mammon’s Esper abilities could pry the details from their minds.

‘Ancient Houses’ and ‘Noble Houses’ were akin to deputized offshoots of the ‘Most Ancient and Most Nobel Houses’.  ‘Ancient’ described lines that didn’t inherit the intrinsic magic but continued for more than three generations and were in good standing with the ‘parent’ House.  While ‘Noble’ describes branch families that inherited the intrinsic magic of the ‘parent’ House that metamorphosed in such a way that made them unique.)

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Harry, having managed to persuade Sirius out of his half-baked revenge scheme, felt sort of responsible for the train wreck who was supposed to be his Godfather.

On accident he called Dobby, and the little elf had been more than happy to retrieve some things from Diagon Alley for ‘the great Harry Potter, sirs!’.

Which is how Sirius ended up with a second-hand tent stocked with food and some money, (because Harry didn’t want the man doing something crazy like _going_ to Diagon Alley).

Harry was also incredibly thankful for Lussuria’s general overview on using his Sun Flames to heal, as the boy had managed to get Sirius to calm down enough to stick to the plan without having to be re-convinced every few days.

(The more _actual knowledge_ and _control_ you had over your Flames the superior, more precise job you could do when healing someone.  Harry had _just enough_ knowledge and control to basically patch Sirius together until the man could get professional help.)

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So, with a specific goal in mind, Harry set about constructing a container for the rat to be transported inside.

( _Sometimes the best solutions are the simple ones, Harry-love!_   Lussuria had sang when one of Harry’s traps had failed spectacularly and landed him in the Infirmary.  _The unexpected throws people off, and then you have the advantage.  That’s not permission to be stupid, of course, but don’t think complicated when all you need is something that will work._ )

That is why Harry had carved runes, (simple ones, he was by no means an expert), into a wooden crate and charged them with _Flames_ instead of _magic_.  Even if the rat-man somehow worked around the runes charged with Sun Flames, the Cloud Flames would propagate the crate and the strengthen runes.

At least in theory.

They were crude and basic, but Harry hoped that Lussuria’s advice would hold true.  The hardest part had been making sure that he didn’t tip the rat off and linking the crate to be opened by magic after he’d charged it with Flame.

At any rate, Harry presented the crated rat to Sirius during the first Hogsmeade Weekend of December and wished the man luck.

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Harry was happy to see the Weasley sweater on Christmas morning, but he secretly wondered if he’d get another one.  He and Ron were still friends, but they were drifting apart.

There was nothing sinister or earthshattering, just a vast difference in priorities and habits. 

Harry still played chess with him, but was far more confident about telling him ‘no, I really need to get my homework done’, than he’d been in years past.

He and Hermione seemed to be drifting further and further apart as well.  They still studied together, actually more than they ever had, but she seemed to be greatly affected by the amount of pressure she was under from all the classes she was taking.  This resulted in stilted conversations, as her temper became increasingly shorter as the year had progressed, so while they were spending more time together they weren’t really bonding during those times.

While Harry was sad to see the three of them growing apart, he was of two minds about it.

He had already known that they’d never been what they could have been after the fiasco of last year, especially as he’d changed and wasn’t nearly as desperate for acceptance.  That wasn’t to say that he hated or resented them, he was just being very pragmatic about the entire situation.

On the other hand there was that part of him that just wanted to apologize and grovel so that he’d be in safe, familiar territory again.  Walking his own path was terrifying and being so far away from the Varia and the insane pace they set was giving him far too much time to overthink and doubt himself.  There were even times that he scared himself and it made him want to run to Professor Dumbledore and confess where he’d been that summer just so the man could make everything _right_ again.

But Harry knew that without the Varia, he’d have never handled the Sirius situation as smoothly as he had, and that proof was staring him in the face.

**DAILY PROPHET SPECIAL EDITION!**

**_SIRIUS BLACK CLEARED BY SWISS COURT!_ **

**_PETER PETTIGREW FOUND ALIVE- CONFIRMED TO BE DEATH EATER!_ **

**_Swiss Ministry refuses to release Pettigrew to the British DMLE until Sirius Black is declared innocent and granted compensation from our Ministry!_ **

Harry scanned the article and was pleased to note that it clearly stated that Pettigrew had been the Secret Keeper for his parents, and that Sirius had never actually received a trial from the British Ministry.

It was a Special Edition that had come out just after breakfast, and Percy Weasley of all people had given the paper to Harry, so the young Potter wasn’t sure if the Headmaster was still in the castle or if he was dealing with the fallout in his other capacities, as Dumbledore was both the Chief Warlock of the British Wizengamot and the Supreme Mugwamp of the International Confederation of Wizards.

Less than an hour later, Harry and the rest of the students cheered as the Dementors were recalled to Azkaban.

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The rest of the year fairly flew by after the Christmas Hols and the removal of the Dementors from Hogwarts.

Well, he had gotten called to Professor Dumbledore’s office and finally been told that Sirius Black was his Godfather and had declared his intent to take up custody.  However, in nearly the same breath, the Headmaster had informed Harry that Sirius wouldn’t be able to even apply for custody for at least a year, as he was undergoing intensive therapy in Switzerland and Harry would still be returning to the Dursleys for the summer.

Harry had nodded along with the explanation about Azkaban and Dementors, but inwardly he was rather ambiguous about the matter.  (Mostly because Harry fully intended to spend summer with the Varia.)

Sirius had already written him, actually Sirius had bonded with Dobby so they were exchanging letters via Dobby, about the conditions of his therapy.  The man had bluntly informed Harry that their best bet to get Harry away from Petunia was for him to apply for emancipation with Sirius as an Advisor, as Sirius’ time in Azkaban would make a custody case a nightmare, despite Sirius’ status as his Godfather.  Sirius had written that he respected Harry’s ability to think clearly and plan out things, so while Sirius wanted to get to know Harry and fulfill his duties as his Godfather, he would most likely be more like a crazy uncle than a father-figure.

Harry had been touched that the man cared enough to be so honest about everything.  It had caused Harry’s respect for Sirius to greatly expand, he wanted someone who was on his side and not afraid to be brutally honest.  Secretly, Harry figured that someone like that might be able to understand Harry’s choice to join the Varia, which had relieved a great many of Harry’s fears. 

Professor Lupin had finally come clean about being friends with his parents, (after Sirius had unknowingly dropped that bombshell), and Harry was happy to have someone tell stories about his parents to him, but he didn’t really like that the man hadn’t told him earlier.  Sure, it might have been an awkward conversation for Professor Lupin to start, but Harry would have appreciated the effort.

Other than that, the rest of the year had sped by, and it seemed as if January had just started when June rolled around and they were done with their tests.

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At Kings Cross, Harry received a surprise, as it wasn’t Vernon who met him.

“Hello, Harry-love~!”  Lussuria sang brightly as Hedwig settled on the Varia Sun’s shoulder. 

Harry smiled widely, “It’s great to see you, Lussuria!” 

Lussuria stepped forward and swept Harry into a warm hug, “I hope you’ve been keeping yourself sharp, darling!”  Lussuria said as he stepped back and held Harry at arm’s length so he could run a critical eye over the teen.  “Because Boss wants to meet you and Squ-Squ is determined to make you a decent swordsman this summer!”

“Your _Boss_ wants to meet me?”  Harry squeaked in terror.

“Oh, pish, you’ll be fine!”  Lussuria soothed the terrified teen offhandedly as he grabbed the handle of Harry’s forgotten trunk, “Now, grab your stuff and let’s go!  No time to waste!”

Harry was suddenly struck with the feeling of _impending doom_.

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End file.
